The Lincoln Memorial. Staring up at that giant statue, Lincoln looming over him, the man looking out into the distance, wondering what he saw, wondering what he looked for, reading the words, ”with malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right”, and wondering if he was worthy.

I’m not just a man, John Stockton realized. I’m a man, but more than that.

He was part of a chain, a chain of being, a chain of office. He was a baton runner, a carrier of a flame, the forty-eighth carrier of that flame.

The flame was inside him, he saw. He turned his eyes inward and the fire was there, the fire of freedom, of democracy, of justice. It was red. It was blue. It was brilliant, blinding, sun-hot white. It was all those colors, everywhere, at the same time.

The flame burned inside him, inside every molecule of his being, but he was not consumed. It possessed him. He was its vessel. He was made of freedom, made of justice, and his role was to keep it alive, pass it on, pass it on to the next vessel, whoever that might be, whoever the people might choose, even if they chose to impeach him, even if they chose to murder him before his time was over.

The flame stretched backwards and forwards in time. It transcended the now. It was bigger than him, older than him, would live longer than him. So long as he kept the flame burning through his days, then he would have done his duty, and so-help-him-God he would.

“Dad,” he heard. “Dad.”

Stockton opened his eyes.

Julie. Julie was talking to him. Looking at him.

And Liam. Liam wasn’t scared any more. His grandson was staring at him, with eyes wide. He could see himself in those eyes.

He could see himself in his grandson’s eyes.

Through his grandson’s eyes.

Through his daughter’s eyes.

And they were the flame too. The flame was in them.

Oh my god, John Stockton thought. Oh my god.

“Dad,” Julie said. “This is amazing.”

His daughter was alive. They were all alive. They hadn’t died. He could feel her. He could feel her love, her love for Liam, her love for him. He could feel Liam looking around, taking everything in, his thoughts reaching into his mother’s mind, searching, looking through her eyes, trying to understand.

Why? Liam’s mind seemed to ask. Why? Why this? Why this color? Why this shape? What does this mean?

All bright shapes and forms and motions, all beautiful chaos, all love, love for his mother, his mother above all, his ultimate source of comfort.

Stockton’s heart was so full, so full watching this.